


Brazil Nut Affair, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:57:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Believe it or not, this was written for last year's food challenge. Yes, it's moody Mulder and cheap suit Krycek stuck in a car, hungry and tired.





	Brazil Nut Affair, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Brazil Nut Affair by Mord

The Brazil Nut Affair  
by Mord  
Summary: Believe it or not, this was written for last year's food challenge. Yes, it's moody Mulder and cheap suit Krycek stuck in a car, hungry and tired.  
Archive: Sure, if it makes you happy.  
Spoilers: Only for Sleepless and I refuse to believe that a person remains alive around here who hasn't seen that episode.  
Disclaimer: Alas someone else got to them first and he doesn't want to share.  
Rating: I have no concept of the US system. Involves some slight m/m activity.  
Notes: Thanks to Drovar and Rachel for beta, although it was so long ago, they've probably forgotten about the entire thing. All errors are the fault of reading too much Star Wars slash.  
Feedback: 

* * *

The Brazil Nut Affair  
by Mord

Four weeks had passed since Agent Alex Krycek shot and killed Augustus Cole, and Mulder was still stuck with the little runt. Each appeal to Skinner for his transfer had failed more spectacularly than the one before. Now he was trapped in a car in a back alley with the kid, waiting to be pulled in as backup on a nothing case and that was not likely to be anytime soon.

Mulder was only slightly angry at Cole's death. Krycek had only tried to protect him, had been watching his back like a good partner should. What really pissed Mulder off was that Krycek had such a cute ass.

Mulder remembered the sight that had greeted him when he showed up at the crime scene the previous morning. He entered the room to find Alex Krycek in his shirtsleeves, kneeling awkwardly under a table examining a bloodstain, his pert ass in the air. Mulder watched him for several moments, admiring the sway of his ass as he moved, the tensing of his thigh muscles beneath his suit pants, the flex of long fingers resting against the tiled floor. Malleable flesh on unyielding stone.

Eventually, Mulder had knelt beside his partner and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder, whispered his name, suppressed a gasp as jade orbs swivelled in his direction. Krycek curled the corners of his mouth into a grin, lowered his head and looked up at Mulder through unreasonably long lashes. Mulder hated it when he did that. He said just one word, "Mulder," his voice ragged, somewhere between surprise and a cheerful greeting. It had taken all of Mulder's strength not to wrap his arms around his partner and discover exactly what was hiding beneath the cheap suit and obsequious demeanour.

Mulder felt mildly guilty for entertaining such thoughts, just not quite guilty enough to stop doing it. But, indulging in such a fantasy when Krycek was sitting alongside him was stupid. It was dark outside, the alley deserted and the warm body by his side was so close. Too close. No one would see them. Just as his imaginary hand moved off Krycek's shoulder to stroke his spine, a loud crack from beside him jolted his mind back into the stuffy car.

Mulder sat up a little straighter in the cramped seat, stared out the window at the dirty brick wall a few feet distant and willed the beginnings of his erection away. He couldn't spend another long night sitting hard and frustrated next to the young agent who seemed so eager to please. Krycek's amazing sycophantic nature only made matters worse. Occasionally, he thought he saw something more elusive beneath the facade. When he looked up through those ridiculous lashes, Mulder didn't know whether to kiss him or shoot himself.

What the hell was wrong with him anyway? Devoid of Scully and the X-Files, he'd started fancying the first cute agent they threw at him.

CRACK!

What was that noise? He wanted to look at Krycek, wanted to see what was making that sound, but feared he would become fixated on his partner's face. He could hear Krycek chewing and the last thing he wanted to do was look at a perfectly formed mouth and imagine to what other uses it could be put.

Mulder slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, then remembered he had finished the last of his sunflower seeds over an hour ago. He needed something to eat, something to do with his hands, something to look at, something to stop him thinking. If he closed his eyes, would he be able to replay each scene of 'The Day the Earth Stood Still' on the inside of his mind. Or would he just see Krycek as an alien friend baring gifts? He never knew what to do with himself around Krycek and merely prayed his furtive glances were taken for embarrassment at the ferocity of Krycek's hero worship.

"Nuts?"

Mulder nearly jumped out of his seat as Krycek's left-hand casually appeared palm up before his face. He swallowed hard and glanced at the hand. It was slightly cupped and held a small mound of peanuts, several still in their red skins.

"Do you want some nuts, Mulder?" the soft voice at his side asked. "I have enough for both of us."

Mulder licked his lips and pushed the hand away. "My, Alex, what large hands you have," he thought. No, that wasn't right. Krycek's hands were perfect and in good proportion to the muscled body which was hidden beneath his partner's cheap suit. He resisted the urge to fold the ethereal hand into his own.

"No," he said his voice taut. He risked a glance at his young companion. "I don't like peanuts."

"Fine." Krycek sighed and pushed the nuts into his own mouth. Mulder followed the movement of his hand, failing to not imagine the feel of it wrapped around his cock. He turned away, blushing and hoping it was too dark in the alley to see his expression.

Mulder couldn't stop himself from risking another glance at his partner. Each time he encountered Krycek, a little more of his resolve drained away. Krycek sat slouched down in his seat, long legs spread wide in discomfort and crossed at the ankles. He had long since removed his jacket and even loosened his tie. Maybe he felt Mulder's eyes upon him -for a moment, he shone with a reluctant self-confidence never seen before. His eyes gleamed and he returned to the book he was reading. He held it awkwardly so that the faint glow from the streetlight fell onto the page, screwing up his nose and squinting to read the words.

Krycek had long since given up trying to speak to Mulder during long nights like this one and Mulder began to wish he had made more of an effort to make friends. A few kind words and banal conversation might have made stakeouts more bearable. He liked hearing Krycek speak. He wanted to listen to the way the words slid from the beautiful mouth.

CRACK!

"What is that noise, Krycek?" Mulder snapped.

Krycek didn't speak. Instead, he held a small brown object up to Mulder's face. "Hazelnut?"

Mulder began to wonder about this secret obsession. "Do you have a nut collection in your pocket?" He shook his head in exasperation.

"Just some snacks, Mulder." Krycek grinned, then burst into hysterical laughter.

"What?"

"I've never met a grown man who didn't like nuts before. Allergic? Suffer a kernel trauma when you were a child?"

Krycek rolled his eyes and pushed the nut into his own mouth, before placing his hand on Mulder's shoulder. "Anyone would think I was trying to poison you. Don't worry, Mulder," his smile faded slightly. "Some of us actually like you."

Mulder forced a smile. He hated it when his partner turned on the hero worship. Well, actually he was angry that he enjoyed it. Scully had never been like this. He felt embarrassed and faintly guilty as he fought the urge to sample Krycek's nuts.

Half an hour later and Krycek's incessant cracking of nutshells was threatening to drive Mulder insane. He couldn't see what Krycek was using to break the shells and he didn't want to look too closely. The nutty smell was faint, barely masked by Krycek's own scent, a mixture of sweat and salt. After several hours trapped in the car, the only other scent was that of his own fear.

By now, Mulder was desperate to break the silence: anything to stop the crunching of hazelnuts between perfect teeth. But what could they talk about? The case? No, that was a minor affair, their roles perfunctory. Mulder didn't know what Krycek did in his spare time. Krycek never volunteered the information and he, so wrapped up in the closure of the X-Files and his own loss of faith, never bothered to ask. Instead, Mr Eager Young Agent normally spent their working hours with either his nose to the grindstone or flashing those adorable puppy dog eyes in his direction.

Mulder glanced across at his partner who was endeavouring to maintain a pretence of fascination in his novel. Literature! That was a place to start.

"So, Krycek," he ventured, "what are you reading?"

Krycek raised an eyebrow, seeming to know Mulder wasn't really interested. Turning his head slightly, he showed the book's cover to his companion. It was too dark to read the title but Mulder could just make out a lurid picture of a vampire, fangs barred, about to bite into a firm breasted woman.

"I didn't figure you for a trashy horror fan, Agent Krycek."

Krycek smirked. "It's an escape, Mulder. Nothing more, nothing less."

The dull glow from the streetlamps glinted off Krycek's teeth. Mulder wondered if he could be persuaded to bury them in his neck. He could almost feel it, sharpness nipping at soft skin, wetness of the tongue licking at his flesh, mouth suckling. He swallowed hard, unable to prevent a small groan escaping his throat. Damn, he hoped Alex...he hoped Krycek hadn't heard him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could tell he was being watched. Perhaps Krycek was wondering why he seemed so tense or if he would object to a brief meeting of tongues.

"Pistachio?"

"No!"

"Jeez, Mulder," Krycek muttered, his voice trembling like that of a penitent before his god. "I can't do anything right, can I? I didn't ask for this assignment. It's not my fault they took Scully away from you."

Krycek's eyes appeared watery in the dim light; even his normally perky lashes were sulking.

Mulder made a mental note to kick himself later. Krycek was upset, that meant he should try to talk to him about their relationship.

"I'm just not used to this sort of case. I'm a profiler, not a foot soldier." He hoped his frustration would be obvious.

He looked closely at his partner before reaching out a tentative hand to grasp his arm. The material was rough over the muscular frame. He squeezed a little tighter than a federal agent should squeeze his partner, hoping Krycek would mistake the contact for remorse.

Krycek was a rattlesnake ready to spring. His eyes were hooded, lips drawn into a taut smile, or was that a snarl? Mulder watched as Krycek's free hand left the book, losing his place, and moved slowly towards his own. Stalking tender prey. The touch was deceptively soothing; a gesture of wisdom Krycek seemed too innocent to possess.

"They're bound to re-open the X-Files eventually." Krycek squeezed the hand beneath his. "There are still some people who believe in you, Mulder. Don't let them take your faith."

This was worse than the silences. Krycek never ceased to amaze Mulder. He wanted to raise his hand and cradle Krycek's neck, run anxious fingers through oiled hair, frame pink lips with his own. He leaned closer, glimpsing tenderness in dark eyes which almost seemed aware of his need. The moment fled as Krycek removed his blanketing hand. Mulder held onto his dream for just a shade too long before pulling away. When he did, it was with his soul's reluctance to return to their petulant silence.

"Read to me, Krycek."

"What?"

"Your book. Read to me. Or would you rather I rediscover that country and western station I found earlier?"

"I don't think that will be necessary. You want me to start from the beginning?"

"No, from where you are is fine."

"You don't want to hear the exposition?"

"Let me see. Vampire meets girl, vampire kills girl, vampire gets girl back?"

Krycek laughed. "Yeah, something like that."

Krycek cleared his throat and began. He struggled to read coherently in the dim light, which Mulder only found more charming. Krycek's voice was the soundtrack of a B movie and the creak of a leather couch at 3am on a sultry morning. His partner's rendering of the story was hypnotic and Mulder was soon lulled close to sleep. A tale was woven of blood and devotion, of addiction and pain. Mulder's head drooped, eyes closing, unwilling to allow any sensation to detract from the lush tones stroking his eardrums. Gradually, he dozed off.

Moments later, he woke with a start, slamming the back of his skull against the headrest.

Krycek closed the book and slammed it down onto the dashboard. "What is it this time, Mulder?"

"Huh? Nothing, I just dozed off. It's your voice, its..."

"Boring?"

Mulder shook his head.

"Irritating?"

Mulder closed his eyes and prayed he would not have to explain to his partner how sensual his voice was. That he had chosen sleep over suffocating in his addiction. If he listened hard enough would he hear Krycek's heartbeat, luring him like a drug, demanding his longing be quenched? Mulder wondered if it was possible to acquire a blood fetish just from listening to a FBI agent read tales of vampires.

"Have you got any more food, Krycek?" he asked in a vain attempt to rectify their situation.

"Only nuts, Mulder. And you don't seem to like those." Krycek looked exasperated, his breathing laboured, lips pursed, caught between fury and sulking. His left hand gripped the leather seat, knuckles paling. Mulder wanted to reach out and touch the trembling fingers, to squeeze the life back into them. What a mess this assignment was turning into. He would have to try speaking to Skinner again in the morning. One more night of not kissing his partner, of not stroking, caressing, or feeling their skin pressed together would surely drive him insane.

"This isn't working, is it?" Krycek asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"We should have enough evidence soon to make an arrest. Then we can both go home and get some sleep." Alone, unfortunately.

"No, not the case." Krycek waved his arms around in a flamboyant gesture. "This isn't working. Us."

Mulder rubbed his forehead. This conversation was giving him a headache.

"I'll request a transfer if that'll make you happy." Krycek continued. "I don't want to. I enjoy working with you, despite the way you treat me." Mulder winced. "I believe in your work," he sighed, "but they'll only give you someone else who isn't Scully."

"Oh, Alex. If only you knew. If only I dared tell you the truth," Mulder thought.

Mulder glanced over at his partner. Krycek was playing with his tie, his delicate fingers creating intricate patterns with the material. It looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Mulder's heart broke and he relented.

"Brazil nuts."

"What?" Krycek failed to suppress the tightness in his voice.

"I like Brazil nuts. I don't suppose you have a mixed bag over there."

Krycek exhaled slowly, a faint smile flickered across his face.

"Must be fate, Mulder." A slender hand moved across the car, bringing Krycek's scent and a long triangular shape. Mulder took the proffered nut, stroking his partner's fingers just enough for contact, hopefully not enough to arouse Krycek's suspicions. He had to be safe, especially as Krycek seemed convinced of Mulder's hatred and distrust.

Turning the hard brown shell over in his hand, Mulder stroked the rough surface, fingering its sharp ridge. Beautiful, but not much use to him without some...

"Nutcrackers?"

Trust eager young Agent Krycek to come prepared for any scenario.

"Yeah, thanks."

Mulder held out his right hand and wrapped his fingers tightly around the heavy metal object which Krycek pressed into his palm. The nutcrackers were about six inches long, their surface smooth and firm. Mulder stroked them, only half disappointed that Krycek was too busy staring into the dark to notice. In fact, Krycek seemed to be looking anywhere rather than at him.

Mulder licked his lips. Suddenly, he wanted this one Brazil nut more than anything else in the world. Krycek's leg moved slightly as he tried to find a less uncomfortable position. Perhaps there was one thing Mulder wanted more than the small brown object between his fingers. Krycek, however, was something he could never have.

Cautiously, he placed the nut between the arms of the nutcrackers. He applied pressure to the other end. Nothing happened. He pressed harder. Still nothing. His clammy hands slipped on the metal and the nut refused to break. The man beside him stifled a giggle.

Mulder placed the offending articles on his lap and crossed his arms. He hovered one degree of frustration from pouting. He could fight the government and ward off cute partners, but not crack one stupid nut.

"What?" Mulder demanded.

"I didn't think there was anything 'Spooky' Mulder couldn't do." Krycek grinned. "Don't tell me, you only ever buy pre-shelled. They taste much better freshly exposed. You've never done this before have you?"

"Seeds generally don't require shelling, Krycek."

Krycek must have noticed the warning in his partner's voice. Mulder was used to ridicule, but over the weeks had grown fond of his companion's sycophantic nature, especially the tight smile whenever thrown anything remotely resembling a compliment. He didn't like the smug beast sitting in the passenger seat.

Abruptly, Krycek reached across the car to retrieve the objects recently deposited in Mulder's lap. Was that his imagination or did Krycek's hand brush a little too firmly against his thigh? Fingers probed the crevice between his legs where the nut had slipped. Mulder resisted the urge to arch his hips.

"It's easy, Mulder." Krycek said as he carefully repositioned the nut in the crackers. "You get more leverage this way," he explained. The tip of his tongue worried his bottom lip. Mulder watched in surprise as Krycek's hand curled around the trapped nut as he used the other to provide pressure. "It prevents the broken shell from flying off and putting your eye out."

"Aha. Well, we wouldn't want any projectile accidents, would we?"

Krycek looked slightly miffed that Mulder was not treating the situation with the requisite decorum. His forehead furrowed in concentration, as the nut remained resolutely whole.

"Problem?" Mulder smirked. He felt somewhat relieved that Krycek's plans to teach him a lesson were failing.

"No, it's just a little harder than normal."

"So, you're saying there's nothing wrong with your technique?"

"Maybe if we both tried." Krycek nodded towards his hands.

Mulder's face contorted in confusion. Did Krycek expect him to? Probably. Mulder leaned closer until he could smell Krycek's sweat and a faint musky odour. This close, the oil in Krycek's hair was almost inviting, akin to a natural lubricant, the hair itself was just the right length. An image of Krycek's head in his lap a he tugged roughly at the hair warmed his vision. A groan escaped his throat. He was definitely losing it.

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

Mulder snapped back to attention. He wrapped both hands around Krycek's and prayed to whomever was listening that the trembling in his fingers was not as obvious to his partner as it was to him. Krycek's hands were cold and dry, not quite as soft as Mulder had imagined.

"Squeeze, Mulder."

Mulder obeyed. He leaned against the shoulder next to his. Heads almost touching, the two agents concentrated on the matter at hand. At least, Krycek did.

"Harder," Krycek whispered.

Krycek's bones moved beneath Mulder's hand, shifting beneath the skin like fish beneath the surface of a pond.

"Ouch!" Krycek winced and tried to pull away. Mulder tightened his grip, aware he was crushing Krycek's hands but unwilling to break contact. Who knows when he would get another chance to touch his partner? Up until now, he had shied away from any contact lest his desires show themselves. Krycek probably misinterpreted that as standoffishness.

"It's no good, Mulder. It's just too damn hard!"

"Have you got anything softer?"

"No, it's the last one. I've got something of a fetish for Brazil nuts. I eat all but one immediately, then leave one for the end." Not for the first time, Mulder noticed how cute Krycek was when blushing.

Mulder was past caring. He wondered what Krycek would do if he rested his head on his shoulder. Something deep in his brain urged him to still Krycek's mouth with a kiss. He thought Krycek liked him too much to report him for making a pass, but what if Krycek was too afraid for his own job to say no? He wanted to see Krycek breathless with pleasure, writhing at his touch. Yet, somehow that scenario seemed even more frightening. Intimacy bred familiarity. In his experience, familiarity brought rejection pain and suffering.

Krycek shifted in his seat as he tried to relax Mulder's grip on his hands. Reluctantly, Mulder realised he would have to release him.

"Sorry."

The agents untangled themselves; the change in pressure bore down on the Brazil nut. Its shell shattered, flying in all directions, bouncing off the dashboard. Krycek took most of the shrapnel against his head and torso. He tutted quietly as a shower of shell and broken nut fell into his lap. He flinched as Mulder raised a hand and began to pick tiny pieces of shell out of his hair. His eyes darkened as he allowed Mulder to preen him. Mulder smiled at his charge, enjoying the soft texture beneath his fingers, massaging the scalp. He tousled Krycek's hair a little more than was absolutely necessary, grabbing Krycek's arm as he moved to adjust himself.

"Suits you."

Krycek's mouth opened and shut, then opened again.

Looking down, Mulder noticed that several large sections of nut had fallen into Krycek's lap. A few of them rested against his groin. Krycek spotted them a moment later and began to gather them together. Mulder waited for his present, but Krycek grinned and placed them into his own mouth.

Mulder was incensed. Just who was the senior agent here? After ten minutes of torture, finally the nut had cracked and Mulder wanted it for himself. He moved swiftly, catching his younger partner off guard. It took a few moments, but Mulder eventually managed to secure Krycek's hands to the headrest of his seat. One of the best things about being a FBI agent was that one always had a pair of handcuffs on hand.

Krycek's face was a picture of confusion. Mulder thought he saw fear, fury and something almost nefarious. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I want those nuts."

Krycek followed the path of Mulder's eyes to his own groin, wincing as Mulder rested a slender finger on his thigh.

"All you had to do was ask," Krycek snorted.

Mulder shook his head. He was seeing invitation everywhere. His hand crept along Krycek's thigh, the pressure hard enough for him to feel the firm muscles beneath the trousers. He picked up the closest nut segment and pressed it between his lips. It was a strange flavour, subtle almost to the point of blandness, the texture smooth as the flesh of Krycek's neck.

The next segment was destined for Krycek's mouth. Mulder held it before the trapped man, who seemed to sense the futility in struggling and stared into space.

"Open." Mulder pressed the nut against Krycek's lips, brushing the soft skin with his fingertips. Krycek closed his eyes and whimpered. Mulder merely applied more pressure. Gradually, he forced Krycek's mouth open, the nut and his finger slid into the dampness. His heart skipped a beat as Krycek began to lick at the invader, moving the nut around his mouth, before sucking gently on the digit.

Mulder watched his partner carefully, searching for any signs that Krycek wanted this, that he was not simply afraid for his career. Did he think acquiescence would stop his bullying?

Mulder slipped his free hand to Krycek's lap. Krycek wriggled in his seat, moving his legs further apart. Whilst it was uncomfortable for Mulder to follow the path of the brazil nuts between Krycek's legs, twisted in his seat as he was, he was reluctant to remove his finger.

Gingerly, he slid his hand between Krycek's legs, ready to pull away if his hostage objected. He studied Krycek's face for any sign of discomfort, but the young man continued to work at the finger like a diner gnawing at a spare rib.

Krycek whimpered and arched his hips against Mulder's hand, causing him to stop his explorations. Not only was Krycek groaning and making a fine effort to suck the flesh off his finger, but also he was even harder that Mulder. He wriggled his hips as Mulder caressed his cock through his pants. Sliding further down in his seat, Krycek pushed himself firmly against his partners' hand.

Turning sideways in his seat, Mulder wrestled with the zip on Krycek's trousers, then slipped his hand inside. Taking his life in his hands, he slid his hand into Krycek's boxer shorts and grasped the cock which strained for release. He forced himself to be gentle as he pulled it free. Krycek slammed his head back against the headrest, biting down on Mulder's finger. Mulder tugged at Krycek's cock, pleased at the way his partner writhed at his touch.

Mulder studied his secured partner, deciding that he looked distinctly uncomfortable. But, then, he was handcuffed to a car seat in a filthy alley in the wee hours of the morning. His breathing was laboured, his hips arched into Mulder's hand. His eyes flicked open when Mulder kissed him tenderly on the tip of his nose.

"So, partner," Mulder asked as he tightened his grip, "you still want that transfer?"

End

Mord  


  
Archived: April 04, 2001 


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